In the Name of Lightworm
by Lily30323
Summary: It was never illustrated exactly what happened to Gabriel Lightwood when he found out that his father had contracted the demon pox and what emotional changes he went through afterwards. One-shot Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Infernal Devices characters, settings or ideas. Cassandra Clare does. I do not make any profits from this work.


_THE INFERNAL DEVICES ARE WITHOUT PITY._

 _THE INFERNAL DEVICES ARE WITHOUT REGRET._

 _THE INFERNAL DEVICES ARE WITHOUT NUMBER._

 _THE INFERNAL DEVICES WILL NEVER STOP COMING._

 _MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON OUR SOULS._

Gabriel's eyes snapped open. His whole body quaked and a sheen of sweat was pasted to his forehead. It was the same dream. Gabriel would walk into the parlor, unsuspecting of the fate awaiting him. Then he would see the writing on the wall. In Benedict Lightwood's ichor-poisoned blood. Sometimes the the torture would end, like it did just then. But most of the time, the dream continued through each and every detail after that with crystal clarity.

If there was anyone who had the most experience with the pain and duty endured by shadowhunters, it was Gabriel. He had been raised to follow tradition and honor the name of Lightwood. Benedict Lightwood had been a strict man to the core, yet he had always been there. Without him, Gabriel's first arrow shot wouldn't have been a bull's eye. Gabriel would never have been able to do jujitsu so well or sing in the tenor pitch or run his first 10K or, quite frankly, do anything. An old shadowhunter proverb stated that a young hunter only grew to be as great as his mentor. It was partially true, but did that mean that he would only ever be as great as that. . . thing had been his father?

Gabriel tossed and turned, searching for a more comfort from the four-poster. He didn't need a mnemosyne rune to recount everything.

* * *

 _Lightwood Manor had been dark and cold. Even when it was bathed in candlelight, it was always dark. Even when fires were lit, it was always cold. Gabriel had just returned from a scuffle with some Shax demons. He had singlehandedly taken them down with only his seraph blades and his wit. Inquisitor Whitelaw had complimented him and promoted him to the rank of Officer of the Enclave. There had been a new swagger to his step. To reward himself, Gabriel had taken a steamy bath and changed into his favorite suede jacket. He had even made beef and onion soup, which he would usually avoid at all costs. It had been his mother's specialty._

 _Gabriel's heart ached at the thought of her. He had been only five years old when she had committed suicide. At eighteen years of age, he doubted he would recognize her face if she resurrected from the dead. His father had kept no photographs of her, as he was still grieving. When he was six, he learned the hard way that Barbara's name and legacy was off-limits. He had worn her emerald pendant that morning, slipping it under his shirt so his father couldn't see it. At the time, he had taken his father for a crackpot elder, not a man with keen eyes. There had never been a time when he had been more terrified in his life. It had happened within the same walls he had stood in at the moment. Gabriel had recalled the stench of Benedict's alcohol-infused breath on his flesh. He had run his fingers over Gabriel's collarbone and said, "What is this, child?" With a rough pull, the string had snapped off his neck and landed with a dull_ thud _on the stone. Gabriel had run into the gardens, only turning around near the edge of the rosemary bushes. Behind him, he heard the slams of fists on walls and drunken howls of anguish. Never again had he made a mention of his mother._

 _He remembered thinking that Barbara Lightwood had been something of a ghost. She had been alive once, but for over thirteen years, it had been difficult to believe. Whenever it had been possible, Gabriel snuck away with Gideon to hear of his mother's true nature. He recalled reminiscing of his older brother's descriptions:_ A kind and gentle woman with brown locks that fell in curls to her waist in the rare occasion that she let it down. She had pure green eyes, kind of like yours and always wore an innocent expression like she was always vindicated. _The boy_ _was only two years older than Gabriel, but he craved knowledge on his mother and Gideon was the only resource._

 _Gabriel had then slurped his beef and onion soup with relish. He hadn't even bothered to check on his father's state, as his condition had worsened over the past week. First, he noticed the red bumps on his arms. Then, Benedict locked himself in his study and sat sprawled in his great leather armchair. Every time Gabriel entered, there he was, dormant. He never ate or even went to go to the bathroom. He just drank water all day long. Each evening the pox along his arms seemed spread from his arms to his chest, neck and head._

 _At first, Gabriel figured that it was just measles or some common fever. He stayed away from his father in fear of contagion, only coming up with a glass and pitcher of water. Gabriel had long ago given up trying to force-feed Benedict. During his last attempt, Benedict turned to face Gabriel with a haunted expression. He shoved the tray of food off the stand, screaming, "Get it away from me!" That was when Gabriel had learned that whatever infected Benedict was definitely demonic._

 _He had drank his soup and thought about what he could possibly do. Calling for the Enclave was obviously not a suitable option. Gideon had been residing in the London Institute with that stupid, incompetent woman heading it. There was Magnus Bane, but there was no way that Gabriel would accept help from a filthy warlock like him. It wasn't as if the Lightwood family couldn't afford to hire hundreds of warlocks if they wished to. It was a matter of pride. Since when had shadowhunters relied on dealings with warlocks?_

 _No matter how much more difficult it became, Gabriel thought he could find a cure. He had went to his king-size, ready for a hopefully stress-free slumber. The bed was made of dark walnut wood with green silk hangings and gold fabric woven through the sheets. The Lightwood family had been wealthy and sheltered since the beginning of time. At the time, Gabriel thought that the power that came from that wealth was the solution to every dilemma. For an hour or so, he lie awake, pondering his choices. Then, he fell into a blissful hibernation for what felt like infinity. Though he thought nothing of it when he enjoyed it. Later, he would silently scold himself for taking the gift of sleep for granted. No amount of money could ever get him the hours his body longed for._

* * *

 _That morning he had heard a voice call out: "Gideon!" and had woken up, disoriented. He then realized that it had been his own voice speaking of some dream about his brother that he couldn't recall. What he had thought to have been dreamless sleep really wasn't so. He just didn't remember it._

 _Before anything worse happened, he disposed of the remains of the beef and onion soup. If there was anything he could have helped, it would be to keep his father out of rage fit mode, as he had come to call it. That was considering that Benedict would even have enough sense left in his demented state to recognize symbols of his own deceased wife._

 _At the thought, Gabriel had cackled maniacally. He had realized a while ago that his own home was driving the sanity from his mind. There was only so long that one man could live with a broken man and not lose hope. There was only so long that one man could live basically isolated before forgetting his own humanity._

 _Gabriel had walked down the corridor, still in his dayclothes. A part of him had told him that morning to stay away from his father and just let him die. But the larger part of him; the one full of excess pride and hopefulness had told him to check on him and refill his pitcher with fresh water. It would have been better for him to gain enough time to find a cure for the pox instead of have him contract cholera from infested water. As he usually did, he chose the latter._

 _He had strutted through the hall, not willing to let his father's illness prevent him from his normal, confident manner. After traveling for a few minutes, he had come upon his father's study. The double oak doors had been ripped haphazardly from its hinges. Gabriel had gasped and said aloud, "I should've watched over him." For several moments, he had stood frozen at the scene of the doors on the floor._

 _When he had regained his mental consciousness, Gabriel had stepped cautiously into the study. He had been in so many times over the past week that he could recall every nightmarish detail. There was the respectable dark green wallpaper, now torn apart to reveal deep gashes in the stone wall. The desk had been torn to splinters and the ink bottle smashed upon the floor. Ink had spill over._

 _That was when he had seen the words. Written in what appeared like normal blood. But with a sniff, he detected ichor. Then, it had all come together. His father had been at a party with, not just disgusting Downworlders, but demons. Gabriel's father had consorted with demons. The truth had hit him harder than any foe could, physically. Whatever the hell the_ Infernal Devices _were, Gabriel had vowed to find out later, but, until then, knew what to do._

 _Gabriel had received early education by both his father and instructors at the Academy in Idris on demonic diseases. Most were easy to contract and cure such as what mundanes thought of as_ hay fever _. It was really demonic gases that spread through the air by way of winds. For reasons unknown to Nephilim, demons flocked together during certain seasons and spread the undetectable gases. Mundanes often blamed it on pollen or ragweed, as they always did. They had, since the beginning of their existence, sought to find_ reasonable _solutions to problems. However fake they were. Gabriel had shaken his head at the thought. He had then recalled the disease that had been deemed rumored. Demon pox._

 _He had then left the study, unsure what his next move would be. It came to him quite quickly when he spotted a trail of green slime heading down the the stairs. Realizing that his father may have left it, he had made his way down the stairs, marking his way with his stele on the banister so he could tell the path if the slime should dry up._

 _The trail led him out to the garden. Then he he had seen the corpses. Ripped flesh spread about the gardens. The once beautiful white roses had been tainted red like the story of Wonderland. But had thought,_ This is no Wonderland. This is a horror story. _The shreds of gore scattered across the area had once been the servants of the manor._

 _He had put his face in his hands and thought,_ How come I hadn't ever thought of them? _It had been true. Gabriel had never once thought of the servants and maids that could have been harmed in Benedict's dementia. Though he hadn't any idea of the demon pox until it had been too late, he still hadn't considered that Benedict could've gone into rage fit mode and murdered them. The prospect had never seemed to reach his head._

 _As he stood looking upon the bloody remains, the whole of reality seemed to strike him. He had always just killed demons because he had been told to. It was in his mandate and there was no other reason. It had been obvious to him before that demons could cause harm, but he had never truly seen it. Gabriel had believed that demons were only obstacles to be killed by shadowhunters that came out of the Void purely to entertain them. Not that they were savage masters of the arts of destruction and death that they truly were._

 _He also understood that death wasn't always like his mother's: strange and distant. It was brutal and it was always hard. Mass murder was real as anything else. That day, Gabriel had really grown up. Not the day he had come of age._

 _Everything sort of dissolved when he pulled out his bow and quiver full of arrows. It was as if his soul was acting instead of his body. In the next moments he was heading straight through the great globs of slime, to his father._

 _He barely hesitated as he had seen Benedict. He had been transformed into a giant serpentine creature with white scales running along its skin. His. . .It's eyes were red with yellow slits. It must've been at least sixteen feet tall. When it had faced its son, it let out a blood-curdling shriek, revealing three sets of piercing fangs in its mouth. After another shriek, it had reared up, ready to uncoil and strike at Gabriel's slightest motion._

 _Gabriel had put down the bow, desperately hoping to return Benedict to his normal state. "It's me. Your son." He had pointed at his chest, trying to indicate to the serpent that it was him._

 _It had seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then rattled its tail and began chasing Gabriel. He had armed himself once more and climbed up an apple tree that stood at a taller height than it. "Listen!" he had called to it. "This isn't you! It's a demon!"_

 _That time, it didn't even hesitate. It had opened its jaws and more teeth retracted. With a hiss, it had slammed into Gabriel, knocking the breath out of his chest._

 _In one swift motion, Gabriel had run like his father had taught him to. He had given up hope that his father's soul was located anywhere in the body of snake that slithered after him. His one and only goal had become survival. And the only refuge left had become the London Institute. He had known that the old witch may not pity him, as his father had been very anti-Accords, but it had been the only option left. Perhaps if he asked Gideon, he would request that Charlotte help him. Gabriel had thought that if that didn't happen, he would become a Nephilim fugitive. Stripped of his honor. The thought had made him spit while still running._

 _By the time he had reached the edge of the property, he dared to look behind him to see that the serpent had stopped at the rosemary bushes. He had felt the urge to laugh at the contradiction. Gabriel remembered thinking of how it was the same place that he had run to escape his father's grieving wrath. And how it was nothing like the emotionless beast that followed him._

 _In a reckless motion, Gabriel had waved his arms at the thing, just to make sure that it would, indeed, not continue the chase. His heart had hammered in his chest, threatening to burst out. His lungs had burned, in pain from sprinting such a long distance with the most adrenaline in his veins as ever._

 _He had leaned against the Lightwood carriage, catching his breath before hitching Willow, a speckled brown mare to it and heading the way of the Institute. If they wouldn't accept him, he knew that he would find another way. There was always a loophole somewhere and he knew that he would eventually find it. If there was no loophole, he would create one. That was how had always been for the name of Lightwood. They always found a way._

* * *

Gabriel opened his eyes, finished with his meditation session. He gazed wistfully at the hearth. Though no one else-even Gideon-knew it, Gabriel often meditated to clear his mind. He always sat at the hearth to do it, as he found the heat and the sound of the crackling fire soothing. Then, he would recount that same event over and over until he felt he could focus on reality. It took only once with a mnemosyne rune to help him recall it perfectly so he could do it without one.

Ironically, the more he recalled the gore of his servants and brother-in-law and the serpentine creature and the longing for his mother, the more bearable it seemed to become. Over time, the meditation recap had turned somewhat habitual. Once, he skipped a session and the nightmare went on longer. The rest of the day he got migraines that made his skull feel like it was splitting open.

In the rare occassion that he had an evening patrol in some public location in London, he did his meditation recall as he patrolled. Most of the time, Charlotte didn't trust him enough to send him on any significant mission or patrol. No matter how hard Gabriel tried to prove to Charlotte that he was loyal, she was always cautious. For some odd reason, this made Gabriel satisfied. He knew that if he were the head of the Institute, he wouldn't have easily trusted a figure who had sought refuge after his father had the demon pox. It had taken a while until Gabriel began to see the similarities between Charlotte's style of leadership and his.

From a young age, Gabriel had been trained by Benedict to become a cunning and persuasive speaker. Most often, his speeches had been about blood purity and anti-Accords. But just recently, he had seen the responsibility of the London Institute's head, who he had taken a fool. And the wisdom of Magnus Bane, who most certainly didn't fit the stereotypes aimed against warlocks.

He couldn't have been more glad to enjoy the company of Henry, James and Cecily. Though it had only been for a few weeks, being "alone" with insane Benedict had had detrimental effects on his mind. Having his newfound camaraderie was like returning from the wilderness to civilization. William Herondale was another story, but they had gotten to the point where they were able to move in opposite directions in the corridor without getting into a brawl. Gabriel knew that he would have to learn to at least form a partial friendship with the bastard if he wanted to have even a temporary relationship with Cecily.

Gabriel stood up, unsure of what to do next. The whole Institute was asleep except for him, so he would have some solitude. But it was a different kind of solitude. A peaceful kind. Not like the isolation he suffered with Benedict. He had decided that he was done wallowing in the past. He had long ago accepted that his name would forever be dishonored because of his father and didn't wish to live forever burdened by it.

With a singe flipping motion, the silver Lightwood ring was off his finger and being eaten by the flames in the hearth. That ring had been with him since he was five, the year his mother died and Benedict went mad with grief. Since then, he had trained with it, eaten with it and even slept with it. When it wasn't on his finger, it was on a string around his neck. But in the events after the patricide, the ring had laid heavy on his heart (or, rather, on his finger).

Now he watched the fiery emblem on the ring burn and melt. Fire fought fire. With each droplet of silver that melted in the searing flames, Gabriel pictured the Lightwood legacy drifting apart and the family's past being left to dust and shadows.

* * *

 **Note: This would be my third fanfic since my first was a disaster that was deleted and my second is still in progress. Please review this story, whether you liked it or not. I also sort of changed certain scenes and added the scene of the ring since I thought it would be symbolic. It would be helpful if I received feedback on whether I conveyed Gabriel's character accurately. Thanks!**

 **Lily30323**


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